


Fixture

by Spooky831



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13577940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spooky831/pseuds/Spooky831
Summary: It's the first Valentine's Day after Sherrinford.





	Fixture

Gregory Lestrade had become a regular fixture in Mycroft’s life in the past few months. Since Sherrinford in particular there had been regular (at least fortnightly) meetings in various cafés and eateries around the city, often accompanied by delicious food, fine wine and no mention whatsoever of Sherlock

Mycroft isn’t quite sure what to make of it all. 

It’s been two weeks now since they’ve met up and Mycroft is starting to feel a bit antsy. Though difficult to admit to himself, he has come to rely on those meetings – Greg is… insightful. A good conversationalist. Kind. 

Years of meetings and teamwork in regards to Sherlock had forged a sort of friendship. After Sherrinford things had changed – had become deeper.

He was still barely on speaking terms with his parents. His and Sherlock’s relationship was as fraught as ever. He didn’t have friends. Except, after spending a terrifying night in a cold dark cell in Sherrinford, being alone wasn’t as attractive as it had always seemed.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Wednesday morning and Mycroft had already been up for five hours. An angry Chinese diplomat had ensured that fact rather nicely. Now however, the incident was over and his morning’s paper work, along with a large mug of tea awaited him in his office. 

Suddenly his phone pinged.

Hey, how’s it going? – G

Mycroft smiled. He quickly composed a reply.

Quite well, and yourself? – MH

Same old, just wrapping up a case. You fancy dinner later? Could use a bit of fun after the week I have had. - G

Fun? Thought Mycroft bemusedly. Well he certainly wasn’t going to refuse – seeing Greg was always a high point in his day and the other man had been quite unavailable recently due to the aforementioned murder case

Certainly, will I collect you at 7? Will you be at work or your flat? – MH

Cheers – see you at 7, my flat. – G

Mycroft pocketed his phone after sending Anthea a message requesting her to book a table for two at nice French place near Covent Garden. It was his turn to organize – a couple of weeks ago Greg had taken him to (of all things) a barbeque restaurant (he had admittedly been horrified at first but to his chagrin had finished his entire plate of brisket). He had had a bit too much wine that night and blushed a bit too freely. He hoped that Greg had also had too much wine.

He then sat down and settled in with his paperwork – he abhorred tardiness and there were a number of time sensitive documents that he had to complete before tonight’s engagement.

\----------------------------------------

As 5pm rolled around Mycroft headed out the door and back to his flat. Last Sunday he had purchased a new charcoal suit and complimentary plum shirt, which would do nicely for the evening. He attempted to tame his freshly dried hair. Frowning, he noted that there was a tinge of red beginning to show again. 

At 7pm exactly Mycroft’s car pulled up at Greg’s flat in Ealing. A minute later the man himself appeared and Mycroft experienced a flutter in his stomach. Greg was wearing a blue shirt and chinos. His silver hair was slicked back and he grinned as he appeared in the doorway. Mycroft’s flutter worsened. His attraction to Greg had been only escalating since Sherrinford despite his best efforts to quash it. Mycroft wasn’t blind – the detective inspector was of course an attractive man. Throughout the years of knowing him, Mycroft had learned he was also a good man. But that night after Sherrinford… 

“Mycroft!” he greeted as he slid into the back seat. “I hope there’s a good wine selection where we are going.”

On closer inspection Greg appeared… weary. There was a dark shadow around his eyes and he had missed a spot with his razor.

“An extensive wine menu,” replied Mycroft, “to accompany fine French food.”

“Excellent,” said Greg.

Shortly they were pulling up at their destination – a cosy and dimly lit affair with smooth jazz permeating the background. They were ushered to a small table towards the back of the restaurant adorned with a red velvet cloth and white rose in the center. 

“Well, this is festive,” said Greg grinning as he looked at the centerpiece. Glancing around the room Mycroft noted something with a start. There were two people at every table. At most tables sat one man and one woman in each chair. Many of them were holding hands. Even stroking hands.  
The date! Valentines day. It was Valentines Day. 

Mycroft felt his face go warm as he looked at his dinner companion. 

“I love that colour on you,” said Greg as he leaned towards Mycroft. It highlights the grey in your eyes.”

Mycroft heart rate steadily rose. This was surely a coincidence? This was just a dinner – not a Valentine’s Day dinner. Greg continued to look at him – he thought he could detect a small hint of anxiety in his expression. 

“I, well I-“ said Mycroft.

“Mycroft,” interrupted Greg, “look I’m sorry if I have made things uncomfortable. I fancy you.”

Palpitations. Mycroft was having palpitations.

“I just hope that you might feel the same as I do.

His heart like thunder now, Mycroft leaned forward across the table and brushed his lips against Greg’s. This had to be a dream? His heart was racing so quickly he started to feel light headed. Very light headed in fact. And his head was sore. His back was sore. He was lying on something hard and cold – and someone was anxiously calling his name.

Blinking he came to. Sherrinford. He was still there. 

Hovering above him was Greg. Greg - he- they had all been in his head, he realised.

“Mycroft!” said Greg, looking anxiously down at him, “you’re awake.”

“I- I-“ Mycroft was finding it difficult to find words.

“It’s ok Mycroft,” said Greg, we think she gave you a pretty heavy sedative, it took us a few minutes to wake you up.

Mycroft struggled to sit up. Greg caught him as his body protested, his arms around Mycroft’s torso. Mycroft felt an unfamiliar prickling sensation in his eyes and a burning in his throat. Greg’s arms tightened around him. He managed to push the tears back.

“Hey now,” soothed Greg, “the paramedics will be here shortly, don’t overdo it.”

“It’s Valentines Day,” whispered Mycroft. He was starting to feel woozy – the sedative kicking back in as his adrenaline dropped.

Greg let out a short laugh – “Is it really? Well congratulations Mycroft, this is the closest I’ve been to someone in years on Valentines Day.”

Mycroft closed his eyes tightly. “Good,” he mumbled and practically passed out in Greg’s arms.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

When Mycroft came to, he was surrounded by paramedics. A few minutes later he was whisked away on a helicopter. After a quick stop at the medical clinic he soon found himself at home, on the sofa, and about to drink a very large tumbler of scotch. 

He was interrupted by the doorbell. Greg stood at his doorstep.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, opening the door to the detective inspector. 

“Well can’t leave a man alone on Valentines Day,” replied Greg, smiling and holding up a bag of Indian food. 

He couldn’t deny that the company was welcome – more welcome than Mycroft liked to admit to himself. His subconscious clearly was quite attached to the other man and the realisation that the past few weeks had occurred only in his head had been... disappointing.

Mycroft flushed slightly and opened the door wider. 

Perhaps his drug-induced haze was about to come true.


End file.
